


Insatiable

by RaeDMagdon



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, F/F, Fingering, Mild Humiliation, Playful Sex, Spanking, lexa has a penis, secretly fluffy underneath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:04:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: There’s no doubt about it. Lexa is angry. And Clarke loves it when Lexa’s angry, probably much more than she should.





	Insatiable

**Author's Note:**

> It's Smutcation time again! :D The prompts were:
> 
> "Smutcation! My favorite time of year! Here is my submission: Clarke has a verbal humiliation kink that Lexa has started to pick up on. Sometimes her body reacts to the commander during the heat of an argument (especially during an argument because fuck that vein on Lexa's throat) and sometimes Lexa uses that to her advantage much to Clarke's dismay."
> 
> and
> 
> "For the fic promps, anything with Clexa and spanking would be amazing..."
> 
> Follow me @raedmagdon on tumblr for more!

Clarke, as she so often does, finds herself staring at the vein in Lexa’s neck. There’s something fascinating about the way it throbs, taut and enticing, carrying a rush of hot blood beneath. Then there’s the tightening at the corners of Lexa’s mouth. It’s subtle at first, as if she’s adjusting the set of her jaw, but as she rolls her lips, showing just a hint of teeth while wetting them, Clarke’s heart stutters.   
  
There’s no doubt about it. Lexa is angry. And Clarke loves it when Lexa’s angry, probably much more than she should.   
  
“Are you even listening to me,  _ Klark?” _   
  
It takes an effort of will for Clarke to pull herself out of her haze. If she’s going to make this work, and she desperately wants to, she’s going to need much more focus than this. “I’m listening,” she says, but she doesn’t meet Lexa’s eyes. Not yet. First, she lets her gaze caress the dip of Lexa’s throat, lingering on her pulse point. It’s at the base of that vein Clarke loves so much, and it twitches as she stares.   
  
“No, you aren’t.”   
  
Only the slight edge of irritation in Lexa’s voice causes Clarke to stop her ogling. This time, she does meet Lexa’s eyes, and she feels a lance of fire straight through her belly. Sometimes, she thinks those eyes could devour her whole.   
  
“I am,” she insists. She knows Lexa doesn’t believe her, but it’s all part of the game—a game Clarke intends to let Lexa win, so she can win too.   
  
Those bewitching green eyes narrow, and Clarke is struck breathless. It’s almost embarrassing, how something as small as the furrow in Lexa’s brow can make her feel as though her entire body has been set aflame.   
  
“If you were listening, what did I just say to you?”   
  
In all honesty, Clarke can’t be sure. She’s been distracted for the past two minutes at least, and she can barely remember what Lexa had been talking about before that, either. “Roan is charging too much for salt from the western mines. The Ambassadors are complaining.”   
  
“Wrong,” Lexa says. She leans forward, not by much, but enough to make Clarke’s chest swell with hope. Will this be the moment? Will Lexa seize the back of her neck and kiss her? Crash their lips together like stormwaves? But no. She merely continues scowling, waiting for Clarke to respond.

Clarke resists the impulse to sigh. She knows she’ll get what she wants, but Lexa will need more of a push first. “It’s not my fault you can’t keep my attention.”   
  
Lexa growls. The noise sends a shiver racing down Clarke’s spine, and the ball of heat in her core pulses as it continues to grow. “Or perhaps,” Lexa says, taking a step to close the gap between them, “you are deliberately provoking me.”   
  
Clarke isn’t expecting Lexa to put it so bluntly, but she also isn’t about to complain. Instead of replying, she waits, knowing her silence will strain Lexa’s patience even further.   
  
She isn’t disappointed. Lexa seizes her chin, thumb on one side, first two fingers on the other. The gesture is hard enough to part Clarke’s lips and pull at her skin, but she hardly notices because Lexa is leaning in, near enough for Clarke to feel the hot wash of her breath.   
  
“Is it because I make you wet?”   
  
This is more than Clarke could have hoped for. Lexa’s question brings a flood to her underwear, and soon the wet fabric is soaked through, clinging to the outline of her lips. She continues staring, rebelling with her eyes. “No.”   
  
“Yes, I do.” Lexa’s refute is inarguable. More heat spreads between Clarke’s legs, leaving her painfully sticky and sensitive. There’s nothing more enticing than Lexa when she’s like this, panting heavily, her lips almost pulled into a sneer.   
  
“How do you know?” It’s an immature question, like a child sarcastically asking why after being given an order. Clarke knows it, but she doesn’t care. Her instincts are proven right when Lexa’s other hand, the one not pinching her chin, shoves right between her legs and squeezes.   
  
Clarke’s eyes roll back in her head. She can hardly keep them open. The sudden burst of pressure has her shuddering, and she can’t hide her needy gasp. “I know,” Lexa mutters, bringing her mouth in close beside Clarke’s ear. There’s only a second of warning before she bites, tugging the lobe between her teeth. “And I know why, too.”   
  
“Why?” Clarke asks, more breathless than defiant.   
  
“Because.” Lexa squeezes again, rubbing Clarke harshly through two layers of fabric. It allows her to be rougher, for which Clarke is grateful—a gratitude she shows with a quiet whimper. “You enjoy being punished,  _ niladon. _ It arouses you. And it embarrasses you that it does.”   
  
Every word is true. Clarke knows it, and she accepts it, but hearing Lexa say it like that, with such smug certainty, makes Clarke’s face flare. “Fuck.”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
The next thing Clarke knows, she’s bent over the bed. She’d hoped to be in this position ever since she and Lexa had retired to their room for the night, but now that she’s in it, her heart is pounding like a drum and her limbs are all aquiver. They tense further as Lexa unfastens her pants with deft fingers and yanks them down to mid-thigh.   
  
Immediately, Lexa’s hand is between Clarke’s legs. “As I thought,” she says, running her fingertips up and down.   
  
Clarke clutches the bedfurs to keep from squirming. If she does, Lexa will only tease her more. “So? That doesn’t prove anything.”   
  
Two of Lexa’s fingers shove inside, and Clarke sees stars. She needs several moments to adjust to the stinging stretch, and until she does, she can’t speak or even think. All she’s capable of is a long, loud moan, which Lexa seems to take great delight in hearing.   
  
“Wrong again.” Lexa curls her fingers forward, and Clarke jerks forward into the edge of the bed. “It proves everything.”   
  
Clarke waits, hoping Lexa will start thrusting and take up a rhythm, but she’s left wanting. Lexa simply rests inside her, occasionally probing the sensitive spot on her front wall to make Clarke’s hips jolt. She’ll need to give Lexa another push, she knows, but her mind is full of  _ take me  _ and  _ please _ , and she isn’t sure she can say anything else.   
  
“Just…” She has to swallow and try again, because her throat has a lump in it. “Just because I want to get fucked doesn’t mean I like being punished.”   
  
Her goading statement works. Lexa gives a few thrusts, pushing deep enough for Clarke to feel the webbing between her fingers. But then she withdraws, and Clarke is left painfully empty. She whines and raises her hips, but it doesn’t do any good. Lexa is gone, and Clarke aches with the loss.   
  
“I can prove it.” Unlike Lexa’s other words, this is a question disguised as a statement. She is asking for permission, and although Clarke isn’t exactly sure what Lexa has in mind, she’s game to find out.   
  
“How?”   
  
Nothing follows except a soft rustling sound. When Clarke realizes what it is, her stomach flips. It’s Lexa’s pants. She’s unfastening them, and a moment later, Clarke inhales through a smile as the blunt head of Lexa’s cock slides along her slit.   
  
“I’m not going to fuck you,” Lexa says. “Not yet.” But she lines up the tip and thrusts in anyway, and Clarke gives a strangled cry at the new stretch. Lexa’s cock isn’t as dexterous as her fingers, but it makes up for that in thickness. It’s large enough to hit all the spots Lexa’s fingertips seek out anyway, and Clarke flutters around the intrusion, savoring the way the shaft strains against her walls.   
  
“I’m not going to fuck you,” Lexa says again, and Clarke can’t help but notice that her voice is a little lower, a little raspier. “But you’re going to come anyway. Because you do like to make me angry enough to punish you.”   
  
“I don’t,” Clarke says, but it’s more reflex than anything. She does, and they both know it, and Clarke is already dripping around the base of Lexa’s cock with the anticipation of being proven wrong.   
  
“You do.”   
  
There’s a pause, a noticeable one that makes goosebumps erupt all over Clarke’s flesh even though it’s burning. She has a guess at what’s coming next—this isn’t the first time she’s been in this position—but still, not having it confirmed leaves a small knot of anxiety mixed with anticipation in her belly.   
  
At last, the flat of Lexa’s hand breaks across Clarke’s upturned backside. No warning, no preparation. Clarke thinks she’s ready, but when it hits, she’s not prepared at all. She yelps, bearing down on Lexa’s cock as her body lurches, unsure whether to press forward into the bed or back into Lexa’s palm. It doesn’t pull away, but stays cupped against her cheek, kneading the sting until it becomes a dull soreness instead.   
  
“Tell me again,” Lexa murmurs, “that you don’t want me to punish you.”   
  
“I—” It takes Clarke several tries to get the words out. “I don’t want you to punish me.”   
  
Lexa’s palm disappears, then slaps Clarke’s other cheek, leaving a hot handprint behind. Clarke bites back her cry, but she can’t do anything about the rest of her body’s reactions. Her muscles clench, and Lexa’s cock gives an answering throb within her, strong enough that Clarke knows she must have felt it all.   
  
“Your body says otherwise. It cannot lie to me.”   
  
“I don’t,” Clarke says, even as her walls give another traitorous twitch.   
  
Lexa smiles behind her. Clarke can tell even without looking. “You don’t want to be punished?” Lexa smacks her again, twice in a row this time, in exactly the same spot. It’s more sound than force, but it’s still enough to make Clarke flinch. “Or you don’t lie?”   
  
“I… don’t…”   
  
Once more, Clarke can’t keep track of what Lexa is saying. She isn’t even certain of what she’s saying. The thickness of Lexa’s cock resting within her, unmoving, is endlessly frustrating, and the marks Lexa has left on her rear are still blazing.   
  
“Perhaps you need more encouragement. Ten blows. You will count them out.”   
  
Lexa starts without giving Clarke a chance to say no. The first strike is hard, harder than any of the others thus far, and Clarke squeals in surprise. The muscles in her ass and thighs tense up, then relax as the pain spreads outward to rush between her legs. “Unh… one…”   
  
“Good girl. Again.”   
  
The next slap is on the opposite side, and not any softer.   
  
“Ah! T–two…”   
  
“Speak clearly,” Lexa says, digging her nails into Clarke’s backside for extra emphasis. The groping only lasts a moment before it’s gone, and Clarke arches toward the next blow before it lands.   
  
When it does, she moans. “Three.”   
  
“Good girl. Again.”   
  
The crack of Lexa’s fourth spank is audible, but Clarke doesn’t feel its outline. There’s just more delicious soreness and pressure between her legs. It’s compounded by the fact that Lexa has started making stirring motions with her hips, incredibly subtle, but Clarke can still feel them. She trembles, because she knows what it means. Lexa is struggling not to fuck her.   
  
“Four. Please fuck me—”   
  
“What was that?” Lexa asks, with a pleased lift to her voice.   
  
Clarke remains stubbornly silent. She’ll feel cheated if she doesn’t get the other six blows anyway.   
  
“Very well. We will continue.” Lexa breaks her hand across Clarke’s rear for a fifth time, and Clarke can’t—wont—stifle her whimper of approval.   
  
“Five?”   
  
“Are you asking or telling me,  _ Klark?” _   
  
“Five,” Clarke says through clenched teeth. She really does need Lexa terribly, and for all her squirming, she can’t find any contact for her clit. Lexa’s cock is also buried too deep to press against her front wall, leaving her full, but unsatisfied without any friction to go with it.   
  
Lexa’s sixth and seventh blows come in quick succession, one on the left, one on the right. Clarke hisses, but manages to hold still for the most part. “Six. Seven.”   
  
“Good. Again.”   
  
The eighth blow is more of a brush than anything. It barely even hurts, and it takes Clarke completely by surprise. She keens, shifting backward in the hope that Lexa will hurry up. For a moment, she’s sure she’ll succeed. Lexa’s cock pulses within her, and Clarke almost thinks she can feel a soft spurt before Lexa regains control. But Lexa remains still, and yet again, Clarke is left with nothing but her own longing.   
  
Lexa hits her again, and Clarke moans low. “Nine,” she mumbles as Lexa’s hand rubs circles over her burning backside, as if to soothe away the pain. But there isn’t pain, not really, because it’s already turning to pleasure. The lines are too blurred for Clarke to tell the difference any longer.   
  
“And the last.”   
  
The tenth slap is the hardest of all. It does hurt, and Clarke lets out a startled cry when it connects. But as swiftly as the flash strikes her, it vanishes, and Clarke realizes to her utter humiliation that she’s coming, quivering around Lexa’s cock without even being prepared for it. Her clit twitches uselessly against the air, and she spills what feels like a flood onto the base of Lexa’s shaft as her muscles clench and release.   
  
It’s a powerful peak, but far from satisfactory. Clarke gasps and wriggles all the way through it, unable to find any sort of peace underneath the pleasure. The harder she comes, the worse it gets, feeding the flames within her until they threaten to swirl into an inferno. “Please,” she pants, rocking her hips back into Lexa in a plea for mercy. “Please fuck me.  _ Pleasefuckme pleasefuckme please _ —”   
  
Her chant becomes a wail as Lexa finally starts thrusting. It’s quick and brutal, but Clarke revels in the savage pace. Lexa is vibrating with selfish need, and now that it’s unleashed, Clarke finally feels free enough to sob into the bedfurs. This. This is exactly what she wanted. This is the reason she prods at Lexa’s weak points just to get a reaction. And though she does it with love, she can’t help but savor Lexa’s anger mixed in.   
  
“You do not deserve this,” Lexa grunts behind her, kneading her backside with every stroke. Her grip hurts, and her hips make a slapping sound each time they collide with Clarke’s ass. “You have been teasing me. Tempting me. All so you could have this.”   
  
Clarke doesn’t deny it. “Yes. Yes, Lexa, yesss…” She keeps saying that, “Yes, yes,  _ yesyesyes,”  _ until she can’t even form the word anymore. All that come out of her are joyful shouts each time Lexa pushes in, and disappointed whines when Lexa withdraws.   
  
“You wanted this,” Lexa says, and even through her haze, Clarke can hear that her voice is strained to the snapping point. “So  _ take _ it.” Her cock gives one more mighty throb, and a flood bursts forth, flowing deep within Clarke’s core.   
  
The rush of warmth is more than Clarke can bear. She comes again, and this time, she feels the relief her body has been begging for. Lexa’s spurting streams massage her walls whenever she clenches down, and Clarke melts into the mattress with a happy sigh. She rides out the rest of her release with one cheek smushed against the covers, smiling as the ripples sweep over her.   
  
It lasts a long while. Even after Lexa’s pulses weaken, Clarke keeps shaking. She feels as though she’s floating above her own body, watching the sweat roll off the column of her spine. It’s the shivering that brings her back, the sensation of cold air on her damp skin. Then it isn’t cold anymore, because Lexa has bent over her.   
  
“You could have just asked,  _ niron _ ,” she whispers, kissing the shell of Clarke’s ear. “You know I live to serve you.”   
  
“I know,” Clarke sighs. “But it’s not as fun that way.”   
  
Lexa laughs softly, then nuzzles the back of her neck, nosing some clinging strands of hair aside to make room for another kiss. “Fun. Is that what you call this?”   
  
“Mmhmm. Why, don’t you?”   
  
“I do,” Lexa says. “But our fun can be distracting when I am trying to tell you something important.”   
  
“Sorry,” Clarke murmurs, even though she isn’t in the least.   
  
“No, you are not. But I forgive you. And I love you.”   
  
“I know.” Clarke doesn’t need to hear Lexa say it. It’s present in every touch, even the rough ones—sometimes especially the rough ones. But the words are music to her ears nonetheless, and of course she has to reply. “I love you too.”   
  
“I should hope so,” Lexa says. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve risked my life for you.”   
  
Clarke groans. “Don’t start that.” Fortunately, she has a method of distraction close at hand. She rocks her hips back again, stirring them gently and milking her muscles around Lexa’s softened cock. It isn’t soft for long. Within a few moments, Clarke can feel it swelling within her as the blood rushes back.   
  
“You are insatiable,” Lexa groans into her neck, nibbling with careful but hungry teeth.   
  
“No,” Clarke says. “I’m not.”   
  
Both of them laugh.   
  
“Are you going to make me prove you wrong?”   
  
Clarke gasps as one of Lexa’s hands slides under her belly to start playing with her clit. “Yes, please.”


End file.
